


With The Dawn Comes The Light

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst with resolution, Depression, Get Together, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Quatre falls apart after a mission he discovers that Trowa  has the answers, though they aren't always the ones that Quatre wants to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With The Dawn Comes The Light

Quatre closed his eyes and let the warm water sluice over his head and shoulders, soothing his tired muscles and chipping away at the chill that had settled deep in his bones. It had been a long day filled with the things he hated: mud, cold, cruelty and the worst of what people were capable of, just to name a few. It was days like this, painted in increasingly dark shades of gray from pewter coloring the towering storm clouds to the faded cement floors stained almost black from the pools of rapidly-drying blood, that made him wonder why he had fought so hard to protect humanity from self-destructing. 

In a month Quatre would be celebrating his twenty second birthday and right now he was feeling all of those years laid end to end and increasing exponentially with each one that passed. If a dog lived seven years for each human's one, then a Gundam pilot's ratio must be at least twice that. 

Despite the heavy warmth of the room he couldn't stop shivering; his whole body was racked with increasingly intense tremors. He cranked up the handle on the hot water hoping that more heat would help to defrost the ice that had taken up residence on both his skin and his soul. Recently he had even begun to wonder if the frigid deserts of Antarctica had replaced the heat scorched sand dunes of his ancestors in his heart. 

Without conscious thought or effort Quatre soaped up a washcloth and scrubbed his face, breathing in the clean, strong scent of whatever brand it was that Preventers bought in bulk and stocked all their showers with. Even that, however, couldn't replace the smell of the charnel pit currently melded into his nasal passages. Death, fresh and new, brought with it the scent of blood and newly released bowels; but old bodies carried the sickly-sweet odor of decay which soaked into and tainted everything it touched. Time was the only thing that made it fade and even it was only partially effective. 

Keeping his face buried in the cloth, his eyes closed to protect them from the caustic effects of the soap, Quatre let his mind drift back to earlier in the day, back to the tangled mass of burned bodies that he and his team had found in the abandoned warehouse they had been sent to investigate. The new recruit that Wufei had paired him with as part of her training had turned a sickly shade of greenish white before losing her lunch all over the scene and the toes of Quatre's freshly polished boots. 

He'd watched, completely removed, as she stumbled out of the building barely holding onto the rest of the contents of her stomach until she had cleared the rolling metal doors. Despite their age difference, she was a mere two years his senior, he had felt as if he was watching a child in the process of losing her innocence. The awareness had only added to the heavy feeling that always settled over him whenever he had to deal with death, especially violent senseless death. The fact that some of the remains were considerably smaller than the others did nothing to improve his outlook. 

This was supposed to be a better world; and yet in so many ways it seemed as if nothing had changed. There were still people who lived their lives in desperate poverty while others were exploited and treated as if their very existence meant nothing. Yes, they were making progress and yes, in most sectors things were better, but it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough until the last person to profit from human suffering was behind bars paying for his or her crimes against humanity, never until no child went hungry or lived in fear. No matter how much he did or how much he gave, it was never going to be enough. This slowly dawning awareness ate at the optimism and hope that had kept Quatre going despite the horror of living through two wars. 

Not realizing he was doing it Quatre slammed his fist into the tiled wall of the shower. Over and over again flesh met ceramic, even after the skin on his knuckles were split and bleeding and the surface of the tiles were covered with a spiderweb of cracks. Tears of unmitigated fury and self-recrimination mingled with the almost scalding water, running down his face and adding a hint of salt to the soapy residue that collected on his skin. Throwing his head back he howled, rage and pain echoing back at him from the sterile corners of the long industrial shower. He felt his legs begin to shake before giving way and he went with it. Years of instinct and muscle memory eased his fall onto the slick tile floor though he made no real effort to catch himself. 

“Quat! Quatre! Quat! God damn it, Quat, look at me.” 

The voice was Duo's. Quatre could and had identified it in his sleep, though the tone was one that made him cringe and try to lift his head. Duo was not one to hide his emotions, but the level of fear was not one that Quatre often heard directed at him. The hands on his shoulders however, belonged to someone else. They were too big, the fingers too long and strong to belong to anyone but Trowa or Zechs. Letting himself believe it was the former, Quatre leaned into the touch and allowed himself be helped to his feet, shivering from the loss of warmth now that the water was no longer beating on his skin, turning it pink where it touched. 

He kept his eyes closed, focusing instead on the hands touching him as he was led out of the shower and into the locker room. Someone, not Duo or Trowa, most likely Heero from the efficiency of movements, dried Quatre's body with one of the not quite soft enough towels that Preventers stocked all their facilities with. Another set of hands dried his hair, rubbing it in a way that massaged his skull and under normal circumstances would have had him purring like his nickname. 

Clothes, soft and well-worn, slid up his body, boxer briefs, then sweatpants and a t shirt. Most likely the ones that he had left in his locker to change into after his shower. There was weight on his shoulders and he went with it, coming to a stop when his ass made contact with one of the long wooden benches that ran the length of the room. Socks and shoes were added and with them the knowledge that he needed to pull himself out of his stupor, though they brought with them neither the willingness nor the ability. 

Forcing his eyes open, Quatre took in the worried faces that surrounded him. Trowa was crouched in front of him, perfectly balanced as he made quick work of the laces on Quatre's sneakers; Duo sat on one side, his jester's mask discarded for a look of genuine concern. Next to him Heero stood with a hand resting lightly on Duo's shoulder to ground him and offer support, and on Quatre's other side Wufei was twisting a towel in his hands. The skin had gone pale where the tightness of the material had begun to cut off the blood supply. 

“I'm sorry.” The words sounded faint and distant even to Quatre's ears and he cleared his throat hoping to give them more substance. “I'm okay now. I guess I was a lot more tired than I'd thought.” He pushed off from the bench meaning to stand, but his legs wouldn't hold him and he ended up back where he started with his butt stinging from the impact. 

Heero and Wufei exchanged a long look before Wufei rose and threw the towel down where he had been sitting just a moment before. “I'll get Sally.” 

“No.” The single word from Trowa stopped Wufei in his tracks and he turned, frowning with displeasure written clearly on his face. 

“He needs medical care, Barton.” The words were softer and spoken with more compassion than his expression and body language would have suggested, but were still spoken with a firmness that few people would have argued with.

“No.” Trowa's words were softer this time, a note of pleading buried in them. “If Quatre says he's tired then he's tired. Help me get him out of here and I'll take him home so he can get some rest.” 

Through the discussion Quatre remained silent, his head buried in his hands, neither agreeing or arguing with either Trowa or Wufei, seemingly indifferent to his fate. “Winner?” Wufei's voice was kind though far from gentle. “Do you want to go to medical or home?” It spoke to the level of respect between them that Wufei asked the question directly instead of assuming that he knew what was right and acted on it regardless of what the other person might want.

“Home.” Carefully Quatre levered himself up off the bench until he was standing. His legs shook, but held his weight this time. “I'm fine, really. There's no need to bother Sally.” Wufei did not look convinced, but he did not argue the point, opting to keep his own counsel this time. 

In the end it took Heero and Wufei both to help Quatre from the locker room out to the curb where Trowa had his jeep idling and ready. Once Quatre was settled and seat belted in Trowa got in the driver's side and buckled himself in. 

“You'll call.” It was a statement of fact that should have been a question, but Trowa was used to Heero's way of speaking by now. In the past they had been in the opposite positions, but the words had been no different.

“Yes.” It was a statement and promise in one. A commitment to watch over Quatre and reach out if he needed help. 

Heero nodded, then stepped away from the car drawing Duo with him. Making sure that no one remained in his way Trowa put the jeep in gear and pulled away, joining the steady flow of cars in one smooth motion. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The ride was silent with Quatre seeming to sleep while Trowa focused on making his way as quickly and efficiently as possible through the beginnings of early evening rush hour. The lights were in their favor, something that Trowa was grateful for as it allowed him to minimize jolting Quatre and running the risk of waking him. The meltdown in the shower had been a long time coming, but that didn't mean that it was any less concerning. Something had been bothering Quatre for quite a while now, Trowa could see it in the way that he interacted with others. On the surface he was still friendly and social as ever, but, increasingly he had been keeping the people he cared about at arm's length. No amount of questioning would get anything more than 'I'm tired' or 'I'm fine' for an answer. 

Today had proven that really he wasn't no matter, how much he denied it; and Trowa was not about to let things continue the way they had been. Not now. Not ever again, if he had anything to say about it. 

Quatre didn't stir at the beep of the garage door opener or when the jeep rolled to a gentle stop. He continued to sit with his head resting against the window until Trowa leaned over and shook Quatre's shoulder; at the touch he startled, looking around wildly before catching himself. Seemingly more in control he blinked at the partly disassembled motorcycle parked next to a workbench covered in gleaming engine parts; rows of tools hung on a board above the bench, and next to it stood a cabinet-sized rolling tool chest. The rest of the space was bare, almost spartan, and clearly not his garage. 

“I thought you said you were taking me home.” Quatre's voice sounded tired and somewhat confused as if he had missed out on an important part of a briefing. Not something that happened often. 

“I did.” Trowa released the seat belt and slid out of the jeep taking the keys with him. Whether he meant he did say it or that he had taken Quatre home, possibly both, he didn't bother to clarify.

Quatre didn't move to get out of the car when Trowa opened door nor did he resist when Trowa reached in and pulled him close to help him out. With one foot on the cement floor he paused, his body balanced so most of his weight was still within the jeep. “I don't want to be a bother. If I can just get some sleep I'll be fine.” 

“No.” Trowa shifted his weight to the leg further away from the car and pulled so that Quatre had no choice but to go with him and allow himself to helped out. He shot Trowa a look that mingled confusion and annoyance in a cocktail of distress. When Quatre opened his mouth to protest he was rewarded with a look of severe displeasure, something that had happened so few times he could count them on one hand. “I don't know my way around your place well enough to take care of you there.” 

“I'm...” 

“Don't, Quatre. Just don't.” Trowa's frown deepened and he wrapped an arm firmly around Quatre's waist as he was eased away from the car. Using the toe of his boot Trowa kicked the door of the jeep closed leaving a pale brown smudge on the other wise immaculately clean and polished vehicle. “We'll talk about it after you've eaten and slept.” It was not like Trowa's place was unfamiliar ground; all of the pilots, and Quatre in particular, had used it as a staging ground and a safe spot to crash due to its easy access to Preventers headquarters. 

“I could call a taxi.” Quatre made one last ditch effort to make his escape though it was half-hearted at best. 

“I could call Heero, Duo, Wufei and Sally.” The cool flatness of Trowa's voice left no doubt that he would do just that if Quatre even considered leaving. 

“You win.” Quatre chuckled, a pale sound that weariness had leeched most of humor out of. He sagged a little and Trowa widened his stance to take on the extra weight. With slow, measured steps, they navigated the garage and into the house; Trowa didn't slow down or waiver as they passed the archway that led to the living room and the foldout couch that Quatre had made use of on many occasions. At the end of the hallway Trowa toed open the door to the master bedroom, using his elbow to push the door open wider as he maneuvered himself and Quatre through the doorway. 

The room was dim but not dark due to the light coming through the open curtains; a small amount of light from the hallway fixtures added to it, though the impact was almost negligible. Even without illumination the room would have held the feel of comfortable familiarity. The walls were painted a crisp white that looked clean, but not sterile or bland. The furniture, what there was of it, was all heavy woods the shade and sheen of fresh clover honey. The bed was covered by a comforter in varying shades of green and brown, and at the end, folded carefully over the foot board, was a colorful afghan that had been a housewarming present along with a set of mixing bowls and measuring cups, from Cathy. All three items were cherished and well-used parts of Trowa's household and Quatre had woken up many times on Trowa's couch with the afghan tucked around him. 

Carefully, Trowa eased Quatre down to sit on the edge of the bed allowing him to control the rate of descent and acting only as an extra support. Before he could remove Quatre's shoes, Quatre had already toed them off and was swinging his legs up onto the mattress. The comforter was pulled down and Quatre was under the covers, his head on the pillow, with a minimum of lifting and shuffling around; he looked younger and somehow slighter against the dark green of the linens. Trowa knelt next to the bed his eyes on level with Quatre's studying his face. Quatre's breathing evened out taking on the steady rise and fall of someone working his way into a deep sleep and Trowa saw some of the tightness go out of Quatre's shoulders. 

Trowa remained where he was, watching as the frown lines smoothed out, leaving Quatre looking as worn and vulnerable as he had at the end of the first eve war. Seemingly of its own volition Trowa's hand made its way across the expanse of comforter between them. With a hesitant touch that barely made contact with Quatre's skin Trowa brushed his thumb over the bruised-looking flesh under Quatre's eyes before moving on to trace the line of his cheek bone; Quatre's lips parted slightly and a soft sigh escaped. Trowa froze, afraid of disturbing the beginnings of slumber. He was about to pull his hand away when Quatre shifted, moving into the touch. The corner of his mouth twitched upward and the tension seemed to leave his body as if it had been suddenly drained away.

Convinced now that Quatre was actually asleep and going to stay that way, Trowa let himself relax for the first time since he had made the headlong dash into the showers less than an hour before. His head felt like it weighted more than his neck should be able to support, so he let it cant slowly to the side until it came to rest on his bent arm. Despite the awkwardness of the position and his uncertainty about how Quatre would feel if he were to wake up and find Trowa watching him, he allowed the steady brush of his fingers over Quatre's to skin lure himself to sleep. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The room was dark when Trowa awoke, the last rays of twilight having faded as he rested. He had a crick in his neck and pain that ran down the length of his back to settle firmly in his knees. As he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, the events of the day came back to him. The raid on the warehouse that was being used for human trafficking, Quatre's meltdown, and finally the decision to close his eyes for just a minute since Quatre was resting. A glance at the clock told Trowa he had been sleeping for a little less than a hour even though it seemed longer. 

Rising to his feet, he rolled his neck to ease the strain on the muscles. A few quick stretching exercises had the discomfort in his back and knees down to an almost negligible level. From where he stood he could he hear that Quatre's breathing was slow and deep as well as see that his body was curled into a relaxed position, indicating that unless external forces intervened he would not be waking up any time soon. Reassured, at least for the moment, that Quatre was in no imminent danger, Trowa moved away from the bed, keeping his footsteps as light as possible. In the hall he pulled the door mostly closed behind him leaving a small gap to allow light to enter and sound to escape more easily. 

In the kitchen he flipped on the lights and stood, blinking owlishly until his eyes adjusted to the soft white illumination. A search through the refrigeration produced an orange, half a muffin and a container of leftover stew from the previous night's dinner. The stew went into a saucepan to heat on the stove. While it was warming he finished off the muffin even though it had begun to get a little dry on the outside. The orange, on the other hand, was ripe and juicy so he made quick work of it as well. Alternating between separating the segments and stirring the contents of the pan. When the stew was bubbling and making tiny pools that popped and snapped, he got down a bowl before pouring himself a glass of milk. 

On a normal day Trowa would have relocated to the living room and eaten with either the TV on or a book in his hand. Tonight, though, was far from being normal even for a post-mission evening. He left the glass on the table and brought his bowl over to join it. The stew was warm and filled his stomach with a comfortable weight. As he ate, blowing on each spoonful even after it had cooled, he thought about Quatre and what might have caused the meltdown in the shower. The mission had been a grueling one and finding the bodies had been a shock. The intel they'd received said the warehouse was empty having been abandoned several weeks before. They'd hoped to find documents or some other evidence it had been used for human trafficking, but that was it. No one had expected to find a pile of burned bodies. Bodies that had once been people – tied together so they could not escape and then set ablaze. 

There were no signs of any kind to indicate why the traffickers had suddenly decided to burn up their profit margin. Working outside the limits of the law was always a risky proposition. There were only three things that made it worthwhile; the lack of skill or education requirements, that it was not physical labor intensive, and finally you could usually count on a quick return to your investment. An operation the size of the one they were chasing could definitely take the occasion hit to their bottom line, but they certainly wouldn't do so without a fight; and yet, there had been no signs of one or of anything to indicate the need to eliminate the witnesses and get the hell out of Dodge in a hurry. It was the why that niggled at Trowa. The whole thing didn't make sense. 

The buzz of phone pulled Trowa from his thoughts. The caller ID read Heero and when Trowa hit the button to accept the call the screen informed him that he had two missed calls. 

“Heero.” 

“It's Duo. My phone died and Heero is in the shower so I borrowed his. How's Quat doing?”

“He's sleeping.” 

There was a slight pause before Duo continued, his voice more urgent now. “What the hell happened?” 

“I don't know. I was in the locker room getting ready to shower when I heard him yelling.” Trowa sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “You, Heero and Wufei showed up less than a minute after I found him.” 

“We were in the hallway. Heero heard him yell and took off. Wufei and I followed him. I... fuck... he scared the hell out of me. I didn't know what to do. It's not like Quat to just lose it like that. He's usually the one talking me down not the other way around.” 

The fear and distress was clear in Duo's voice, completely untempered by any hints of humor. Trowa could picture his friend pacing the length of his living room, having seen it repeatedly when Duo was upset or worried about Heero. The knowledge that their friends were also worried about Quatre came as a relief, lightening the load on Trowa's shoulders a little. Taking a deep breath he let his guard down more than he would usually be comfortable with and reached out. “Something's been bothering him, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. He keeps saying he's tired, but there is more than that-- I've seen him dead on his feet with exhaustion and nothing like this has ever happened before.” Trowa stopped, his head jerking up as a thought hit him. “Has it?”

“Fuck if I know.” The lack of surprise in Duo's voice clearly stated that this was not the first time the thought had crossed his mind. “I've seen him get upset and really angry about the kind of shit we saw in that warehouse, but I've never seen him freak out before.” Both pilots carefully avoided mentioning the episode with Zero. They'd both had their experiences with the system and knew the ways in which it could mess with a person's mind and perception of reality. There had been a unique series of circumstances, the discrediting of his family name and the death of his father, that had led up to Quatre's attack on the colony. He had managed to use and control Zero in a later battle before realizing that he could not only rely on his own thoughts and strategies but also that others would follow him without Zero's guidance. That had been years ago, though, and all that remained of the incident was the guilt that Quatre carried. 

Duo blew out a breath breaking the silence that had fallen. When he spoke his voice was softer and much more guarded. “Do you remember when Quat and I were gone overnight a couple of weeks ago? The scouting mission down south?” 

“Yes.” Trowa frowned and pushed away his bowl. It was empty except for a few cooked carrots and a single potato, and he had the feeling that whatever Duo was about to tell him would eliminate what little remained of his appetite. 

“When we were driving back Quat fell asleep in the car. After about twenty minutes he started getting restless and muttering to himself. I pulled over and woke him up because he was in the front seat and if he started flailing around it could have been messy. When I asked him about it he brushed it off, but now that I think about it he didn't sleep the rest of the time.” There was another pause as Duo weighed his words carefully. “I know what a nightmare looks like, Tro. He wasn't just trying to get comfortable or dreaming about writing the report like he said. He was working up to one of those ones that makes you wake up screaming.” 

Trowa considered Duo's words, turning them over his mind to see all sides of the situation. Slowly, like light diffused through a curtain of clouds he began to see things that had managed to slip past his attention before. He hesitated for just a second before deciding to trust Duo with his new found realization. “The last few times Quatre stayed over he'd been awake when I got up. The last time he was already gone and the coffee in the pot was cold. He left me a note that he had to get home and deal with some business for W.E.I. so I didn't think anything of it. It's not like that hasn't happened before.” 

“Fuck. If he was having problems sleeping why didn't he just tell us?” Compassion and annoyance mingled in Duo's voice. 

“Because it's Quatre and he doesn't want to burden anyone.” Trowa's tone was neutral despite the emotions battling for control. Part of him wanted to pull Quatre close and keep him safe from the demons that haunted him even in his sleep and the other part wanted to shake him until he promised to never hide anything like this from his friends. They not only cared about Quatre, but they understood and would never judge him. They had all been where he was now, and Quatre had always been there to help and support them. 

“He's not a burden. “ Duo's long suffering sigh held a hint of humor and affection. 

“I know that and so do you, but he thinks he is and that's what matters.” 

“Yeah. I guess we're gonna have to find a way to convince him he's not.” 

Trowa opened his mouth to wish Duo luck, considering how stubborn and self-sacrificing Quatre could be, when a shout echoed down the hall from the bedroom. Trowa's head jerked up and he knocked over the chair in his hurry to get out of it. “Got to go.” The words were run together in his hurry to get them out, but Trowa trusted Duo to understand and accept the sudden end to the conversation. The phone landed on the table next to his bowl, clinking against the glass, and he was sprinting down the hall before it was out of his hand. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The bedroom was mostly dark, but Trowa could see that Quatre was tangled up in the bedclothes. His torso was uncovered, as he had managed to capture the blankets between his legs and wrap them around himself. The harsh shallow pant of his breathing went hand in hand with the smell of fear-induced sweat. Quatre's hands opened and closed as if he wanted to make fists but couldn't control them. A moan slipped from his lips and he twisted, trying to turn onto his back, fighting the bedclothes that kept him pinned in place. When he was not able to, he rolled back onto his face, whimpering and kicking out as much as he could. In a voice that was raw and harsh he mumbled something, followed by a broken sob.

“You're safe, Quat. It's a nightmare.” Trowa squatted down where he had been sleeping earlier in the day. Carefully he reached out and brushed the sweat soaked hair back from Quatre's face, frowning at how warm the skin under his fingers was. 

“No. No!” Quatre moaned, striking out and knocking Trowa's hand away. “Please, you have to find him.” Quatre twisted again pulling the blankets tighter around himself. A strangled “Trowa!” was followed by soft sob and Trowa drew back as if he'd been slapped. Acting strictly on impulse Trowa crawled onto the bed and pulled Quatre close, narrowing avoiding an elbow to his face in the process. “Shh, Quat. It's okay. You're safe. I'm safe.” Quatre went rigid against him though he didn't fight Trowa's embrace. Encouraged and somewhat relieved, Trowa shifted so that Quatre's head was tucked under his chin. With a light touch he began to rub slow, soothing, circles on Quatre's back. The muscles felt tense and bunched so Trowa added a little pressure and was rewarded with a gusty sigh as some of the stiffness melted away. He continued to make circles, adding pressure in slow increments until he could feel the muscles loosening. 

“Trowa?” Quatre's voice sounded confused and sleep-husky. 

“I'm here, Quat. Go back to sleep. It's okay, I'll keep you safe.” 

“Don't leave. I'm sorry.” The words were almost lost in a whispered sigh that reverberated through Quatre's body. 

Trowa's hands tightened reflexively and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he forced down the fear and guilt he was feeling. “I'm not leaving, Quat. I promise. I'd never leave you.” Gently Trowa brushed a hand through Quatre's bangs before letting it slide down over the crown of his head to stop lightly on his shoulder, the fingers of Trowa's hand resting at the base of Quatre's skull. 

It was only a few minutes before Quatre was again breathing deep and steady. Still holding him close, Trowa worked his feet under the blankets and, careful not to jar or wake Quatre, worked the bedding loose. Letting go with one hand he reached down and pulled the jumbled bedclothes up over both of them; Quatre might feel warm to the touch now, but Trowa knew all too well that once the sweat dried he would get cold quickly. That and the weight of the blankets would help to ground him even in his sleep. It was the reason that he had several light blankets under the comforter instead of a single one of a more heat-preserving material.

On the edge of sleep Trowa remembered the alarm clock. Disengaging himself from Quatre he rolled onto his back to turn it off. He was an early riser under most circumstances and he didn't want it to disturb Quatre before he was ready to wake up on his own. Whether Trowa would go to work or not would depend on how Quatre was doing. They both had enough sick and vacation time built up that HR would probably weep with joy at being able to take one or three off the books. When he rolled back onto his side Quatre snuggled close and draped an arm over Trowa's waist, the fingers of his other hand wrapped loosely in the material of Trowa's shirt. 

Despite the exhaustion from the day and the slow steady rhythm of Quatre's breathing, sleep eluded Trowa. It was one thing to know that Quatre was having nightmares that were keeping him from sleeping and something else to know that they were about him. It hurt on a level he was having trouble processing when he considered that Quatre was that afraid of being abandoned, especially by Trowa. His mind could come up with a laundry list of logically sound reasons that Quatre would feel the way he did, but it did nothing to ease the ache in Trowa's gut. No matter how he turned the problem over in his head, the only solution that he could come up with was to finally tell Quatre how he felt. He kept coming back to the possibility that Quatre didn't feel the same way; if that was the case, then knowing Trowa was in love with him would just make things worse. It was almost midnight before Trowa finally drifted off to sleep and in that time Quatre had barely stirred. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Morning was on the verge of handing the baton to afternoon when Quatre stumbled into the kitchen. His hair was flattened on one side and pushed up into a series of hills and valleys on the other. Despite being a shade paler than his usual fair coloring, his eyes were clear and bright, the bruising under them lighter though still noticeable. His eyes were droopy and heavy though the aura of exhaustion that he'd had the previous day was gone. He graced Trowa with a brief, apologetic smile as he passed on the way to the coffee maker. 

There was the sound of a mug being filled followed by the blissful sigh that always accompanies a caffeine addict's first cup of the day. After a few more minutes and the unmistakable gurgle of a refill being poured, Quatre joined Trowa at the kitchen table, his mug clasped in his hands; they sat in silence as Quatre reverently sacrificed his drink to the god of early risers and sleep-deprived parents. When the mug was half full, he set it down and sighed. 

“Are you hungry?” Trowa made no effort to conceal the way he was studying Quatre, ready to catch him if it was needed. Quatre appeared to be much steadier on his feet, but the droop of his shoulders and the stiffness in his movements said he was still not one hundred percent. 

“Starved. I could even eat Heero's cooking.” Quatre smiled again letting it widen into his naughty schoolboy grin. Heero cooked as he did most things, with optimal efficiency and a minimum of wasted time or effort. Flavor and seasonings were considered a much lower priority than making sure the meal was filling and met the daily caloric and nutritional requirements. While Duo was working on and with him, so far the changes had been slow in coming. 

Trowa returned the smile, though it seemed strained around the edges. “I made bread.” A plate covered with tin foil seemed to appear at Quatre's elbow and he unsealed it eagerly. The scent of warm apples and cinnamon filled the air as he zeroed in on the largest slice. His hand hovered over the foil debating whether to reseal it or not as he devoured the piece in his hand. 

“This is really good!” The meaning of the words was almost lost to the pleasures of biting and chewing. 

“I have another loaf.” Quatre's coffee mug was pushed to the side and a glass of milk took its place. Not much for subtlety, Trowa stood watching until Quatre had polished off half of it. Satisfied that he was eating, Trowa returned to the refrigerator and removed the makings for scrambled eggs with cheese as well as a package of chicken sausage. He stood at the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl before adding milk and whisking the mixture until it was foamy and an almost uniform color. It went into a pan that was already coated with melted butter while the sausages heated slowly in another. 

Silence settled over the room broken only by the sizzle of the cooking food. Quatre finished the milk and sipped from his coffee mug as he watched Trowa skillfully prepare the meal. When the eggs were cooked Trowa split them between two plates before adding half the sausages to each one. After moving the pans to the back of the stove and turning off the burners he carried the plates to the table. 

“Thank you.” Quatre accepted his plate and immediately took a bite. He knew from many previous mornings spent at Trowa's table that Trowa would not eat until he was sure that his company found the food acceptable. It was one of the quirks that made Trowa who he was. Quatre had always meant to ask why, but there never seemed to be a good time or a way to do it without being rude or intrusive. 

“Eat.” Gesturing towards Quatre's plate with his fork Trowa watched Quatre intensely from under his fall of bangs. “It's your favorite.” There was a hint of question in the statement and Quatre smiled.

“Yes it is.” Quatre took another couple of bites, watching to make sure that Trowa was doing the same. “This is really good. I'm jealous of how well you can cook.” 

“I can teach you. Scrambled eggs are easy and the sausage is precooked. It just needs to be heated through.” Trowa's carefully schooled features took on a little more life. 

“That would be really nice. Though...” Quatre paused, chewing slowly. “...there is something nice about eating what someone else has cooked.” 

Trowa snorted softly, though the amusement was no less genuine. “Everything you eat is cooked by someone else.” 

Quatre could feel the blood suffusing his face and ducked his head hoping Trowa wouldn't see his embarrassed blush. “That's different. You made this for _me_. I'm not a customer and you aren't getting paid to cook. You did it because you wanted to. It...” Quatre sighed, chewing his eggs as he struggled to find the right words. “...just means more because you wanted to do it.” He sighed again blowing his bangs out of his face. The exasperated expression was much more that of a tired young man than that of a scarred battlefield veteran and senior Preventers agent. 

“I like to cook for you.” Trowa's voice was soft and gentle. “I worry about you, Quatre.” He set down his fork and pushed the mostly empty plate away from himself. 

The eggs turned to dust in Quatre's mouth and he had to swallow a couple of times to get them down. “Because of yesterday?” 

“Yes. No.” Trowa frowned and shook his head as if he was trying to shuffle his thoughts into some kind of order. “Yesterday was bad and you scared the hell out of all of us, but we've been worried about you for a while.” He paused, his frown deepening, before looking up from the smooth wood surface of the table. “You haven't been sleeping.” Quatre opened his mouth to deny what Trowa was saying, but the look on his face forestalled any argument. “You've been having nightmares.” Trowa's gaze dropped back to the table and his grip tightened around the fork he was still holding until his knuckles whitened from the pressure and lack of blood flow. 

“You've been talking to Duo.” Quatre ran his fingers into his hair and propped his elbows onto the table carefully avoiding making eye contact with Trowa. 

“He was worried about you.” Trowa's tone softened a bit and he looked up again. “It wouldn't matter if I had been or not.” 

Quatre's head jerked up and he scanned the familiar kitchen as if he had never seen it before. Panic and shame clearly fighting for dominance on his face. “I'm sorry.” His voice cracked and he stumbled over the words, but the apology fell from his lips as automatic as breathing. “I didn't want... You shouldn't have had to see that.” 

“You should have told me. Or Duo. Someone. We've all been there.” Trowa tried to catch Quatre's eyes but he kept his gaze averted, so Trowa let his understanding and compassion color his words. “No one would think any less of you because of it.” 

“I'm supposed to be strong and take care of everyone, but I'm so tired. I just want to sleep all the time.” Quatre's voice cracked and he pulled on the hair his fingers had wound themselves into. “I know I'm selfish and spoiled and that I have so much to make up for, but I can't do it. I can't fix all my mistakes no matter how hard I try. It's pointless.” He pulled again, this time harder. “If I could just sleep then things would be better. I know they would, but I can't.” His voice broke, and a harsh sob forestalled the flow of words flooding out of him.

Trowa shifted from the chair he had been sitting on to the one that was next to Quatre. He dragged it close enough that their legs were touching. Carefully he moved more into Quatre's personal space and wrapped his arms around him. At the touch of Trowa's arms, Quatre stiffened, then slowly his arms came up to encircle Trowa's chest. His fingers tightened on the material, entangling them in the soft cotton. With one hand Trowa gently cradled the back of Quatre's head; the other hand made light, comforting circles as they had the previous day. 

The grip on Trowa's shirt tightened and a tremor passed through Quatre's body. Trowa rocked them both as a broken sob escaped. The shaking increased as the sobs continued, echoing around the room and filling Trowa's ears until it seemed he would never be able to hear anything else. He'd wanted Quatre to open up and talk to him, but he hadn't realized how painful it would be to see Quatre hurting, especially since there was nothing that he could do to make things better. The best he could do was to hold on and give Quatre someone to lean on and ride out the storm with. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

For the second time in less than twenty four hours Quatre woke to find himself in Trowa's bed. The room was lit by the diffuse glow of the late afternoon sun as it filtered through the mostly closed curtains. He slowly fought his way to consciousness with the tenacity of a man swimming up from deep water towards that first breath of life giving oxygen and blinked sleepily before letting his eyes slide closed again in deference to the way the light stabbed at at him, making the dull throb in the back of his head amp up in intensity. 

Quatre lay still, willing the pain to ease and let the memories return. They did, first in a trickle and then growing into a flood of sensations and emotions. He felt raw and vulnerable, emotionally flayed open and left bleeding out. He'd fallen apart in front of Trowa twice, and worse, had made a burden of himself. Trowa now knew about the nightmares. If there was a merciful God, and Quatre had pretty much given up on that hope in the last few years, then at least Trowa didn't know what Quatre had been dreaming about. That would make his humiliation complete. 

Suppressing a yawn, Quatre slitted his eyes open and froze. Next to him Trowa lay curled into a crescent, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of someone who was deeply asleep. His hand twitched and he frowned before his features smoothed out again. He frowned again, muttering something unintelligible before shifting closer to Quatre. Trowa's arms were around Quatre pulling him close before he had a chance to react. A quiet sigh ruffled the hair on the top of Quatre's head and Trowa settled against him without easing his hold. 

Quatre choked down a sound that was half laugh and half sob. He had dreamed about this, waking up entwined with Trowa, but in his fantasies there had been a lot less emotional overload and a lot more naked skin. There was something incredibly intimate about waking up with Trowa in his bed that transcended the physical and went straight to the connection that the two of them had shared from their first meeting. Not that Quatre's feeling were of the pure and chaste from afar kind. There were days when he lay in bed and ached for the touch of Trowa's hand. He would have given his family fortune for just one kiss and called it money well spent.

The dreams had just made the longing and need worse. Each time he woke up screaming he had to fight back the urge to get up and call Trowa, to hear his voice and see that he was alive and well. Quatre let his eyes slide closed against the lethargy of exhaustion and its accompanying aura of hopelessness. Pushing off the guilt that threatened to shove its way into the growing darkness in his head, he curled closer to Trowa, and the sensation of Trowa's arms tightening around him before relaxing again sent everything but the warmth and safety that Trowa had always represented scuttling away. Letting himself be selfish just this one time, Quatre tangled his legs with Trowa's, took a deep calming breath and slipped back into sleep.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The sound of the shower woke Trowa; he yawned, then did a long back-curling stretch to work out the stiffness in his muscles. It was full dark and the room was dim except for where the light from the hallway came in around the partially open door. He shifted and one hand landed in the still warm hollow where Quatre had been lying when Trowa had fallen asleep. It was still warm and the contact, even indirectly, made Trowa smile. Despite the lingering worry Trowa was encouraged by the way that Quatre had broken down. He was the kind of person who felt things deeply and when he did not express those emotions they tended to fester and come out in other ways. 

Trowa knew this all too well having spent years completely disassociated from his emotions. It had taken losing his memory and with it the reasons for not letting himself feel to make him realize how wrong it was. By the time he regained them he was unable or unwilling, Trowa was never quite sure how much was his conscious decision and how much wasn't, to put them aside again. Even now when he was struggling with something his first inclination was to separate himself from the emotions that tended to cloud his view. Quatre, of course, was and had always been the exception. He brought out the less rational and more emotional side of Trowa and that was one of the many reasons that Trowa loved him. 

Love. Trowa rolled the word around in his head like a sommelier with a new wine, tasting it and trying it out for size. It was pleasant, heady even, however it carried with it the weight of responsibility and commitment. Neither of them were things that Trowa shied from, fortunately. His recent epiphany that he not only loved Quatre, but was also in love with him had brought with it the rather startling realization that knowing and being able to express how he felt were two very different things. 

“I love you.” Trowa whispered the words letting himself hear them through his ears as well as in his head. They sounded right, honest and completely true to the emotions he was feeling. A flush of heat went through him and smiled saying the words again, louder this time. “I love you, Quat.” 

The shower shut off and Trowa leaned over to turn on the bedside light. The warm glow of the bulb mimicked natural light and softened the sharp corners of the room, throwing them into shadow. It wasn't long before Quatre slipped into the room pausing when he realized the light was on and Trowa was awake. Quatre's hair was towel dried though uncombed and fell in his face in untidy gold waves. He wore the t shirt and sweats that he had been sleeping in, but his feet were bare. His skin was pink from the hot water of the shower and the bruising under his eyes was much less noticeable. All in all he was definitely on his way to returning to the gentle yet strong man that Trowa knew so well. 

“How are you feeling?” Trowa patted the bed next to him in a gesture of invitation which Quatre accepted with a grateful smile. 

“Better. Much better actually. I knew I was tired, but I didn't realize how tired I was.” Quatre's smile took on a rueful edge “I'm pretty embarrassed, to be honest.”

“Why?” Trowa threw the covers to the side and moved to sit so he was facing Quatre instead of having him in profile. “It's okay to let go and lean on others when you need to.” He paused, pinning Quatre with a look. “It doesn't make you weak or a burden. You're the strongest person I know Quat. You take care of everyone else without thinking about yourself or your needs.”

Quatre blushed, ducking his head, but not before he caught the honesty in Trowa's gaze. “I'm fortunate enough to be in a position where I can do a lot of good both in law enforcement and the private sector. What kind of a person would I be if I didn't take advantage of that?” 

“That's not what I mean.” Trowa made a dismissive gesture. “Of course you should do what you can to make things better.”

“What then?” Quatre frowned, genuinely confused by the direction the conversation had taken. 

Trowa sighed his eyes never leaving Quatre's as he visibly scrutinized the words he wanted to use before saying them. Silence hung between them for a few moments as Quatre waited patiently to see what Trowa had to say. Finally Trowa leaned forward taking Quatre's hand in his. He held it loosely, tracing a gentle path over the bones with his thumb.

“It's okay to say no occasionally. Not just to the charity events and peace conferences, but to other things too. If you spend all the time when you are not at Preventers or W.E.I. working in the community garden, building low income houses and running adoption drives for the shelter, when are you going to sleep? You're exhausted, Quat and it shows.” Tugging gently on Quatre's hand Trowa pulled Quatre's gaze up so they were eye to eye. Using the hand he was holding Trowa tugged Quatre forward pulling him off balance. Before Quatre knew what was happening Trowa's arms were wrapped around him and his face was buried in the crook of Quatre's neck. His words were muffled, but still audible. “You crashed and it scared me. If you don't slow down you're going to kill yourself.” 

“I'm sorry.” Quatre's voice was a husky whisper. “There is just so much that needs to be done.” He grimaced, his hand reflexively tightening around Trowa's. “I'm not doing so much that it is keeping me from sleeping. I'm not sleeping much or well so I thought I might as well use my time productively.” 

“Why didn't you talk to me?” Trowa pulled back a little so he could see Quatre's face. “Don't you trust me?” 

Quatre make a choking noise and pulled Trowa close again. “Why would you think that?” The surprise and horror in his voice gave it a sharp edge. He flinched at the sound, softening his tone before continuing. “You are the one person I trust implicitly. I didn't want to worry or upset you.” Quatre swallowed hard and let his eyes slip closed as he focused completely on the man in his arms. “I'm so sorry. I was trying to keep from upsetting you.” 

“Don't.” Trowa's response was equally vehement. He pulled back and raised his hands to cup Quatre's face. “Don't try to protect me. It just means that I know something is wrong and not what it is.” With a touch that was intimate in its softness he brushed a thumb across Quatre's cheekbone. “Please don't hide from me.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Quatre's. “Please. I...” He stuttered to a stop leaving the sentence hanging in the emotionally charged air. 

“You?” Quatre prompted gently. 

“I know about the nightmares.” 

Confused that they were covering the same ground, Quatre frowned. “I know, you told me. Duo told you.” 

Trowa shook his head, his forehead sliding as his and Quatre's hair cushioned the movement. “He did, but I would have found out anyway. You had one last night.” 

Quatre stilled, his whole body tensing in preparation for flight. “I don't remember it. Usually I wake up and then I can't go back to sleep.” 

“I got into bed and held you until you calmed down.” Trowa dropped his eyes as if what he had done was some how invasive or unwanted. 

“Thank you.” Quatre tugged Trowa closer so their bodies were flush against each other. “That was the first restful sleep I've had in months.” 

A quick, hopeful smile flashed across Trowa's features before the serious look returned. “It was about me. The nightmare. You were calling my name.” Quatre deflated against him as the strain from carrying around secrets and pretending to be fine completely drained away. “Have they all been?” 

“For the most part, yes. I've had a couple about Duo, Heero and Wufei. I even had one about Relena.” Quatre sighed shifting so that he was leaning against Trowa in a way that was more comfortable than comforting. “They started when we were trying to find Christopher Menhaden.” 

“The perp who shot Agent Jenkins?” Trowa's expression darkened as he recalled the case. 

Agent Jenkins had been found shot to death in his car outside a burger place that was popular with quite a few Preventers agents. In the two week between the shooting and Menhaden's arrest the rumors had flown that there was a killer targeting Preventers on the loose. Even the media had speculated on the possibility. The fact that there were no more deaths did nothing to stem the flow of talk. In the end the truth turned out to be a lot less movie-of-the-week and more the stuff of soap operas. With a perpetrator behind bars the rumors faded away and disappeared much to the relief of the Preventers agents who had spent the prior fourteen days on high alert. 

Trowa had been no exception especially when he and Heero had caught the case with Quatre, Duo and Wufei as their secondaries. No one had ever really been in danger and Menhaden had been arrested without incident, but Trowa could understand the concern and uncertainty could have acted on Quatre's subconscious. He'd had a couple of bad dreams himself during those two weeks, the difference had been that once he'd known who they were looking for and the reason for the shooting, the nightmares had gone away. 

“Yes. It was silly I know, but once they started I couldn't get them to stop, not even after you arrested him and he confessed. I dreamed that he had lied to get you to let your guard down before he...” Quatre took a deep breath and let it out. “Before he shot you.” Just saying the words made him flinch. “They started getting confused after Menhaden was arrested. There were memories from the wars mixed in, some things that really happened and others that didn't. They always end the same way.” A shudder ran through Quatre and he scrubbed his hands over his face.

Trowa didn't need to ask, Quatre's reaction told him which memory it was that he was seeing in his dreams. The aftereffects haunted Trowa's too. He never dreamed about the beam canon or the shot that should have killed him. It was the aftermath, floating in the Vayate or being lost and not knowing who or where he was that haunted him. He'd had them a lot after the wars, but now with a new life and a much stronger sense of who he was they only made an appearance once or twice a year. The Preventers therapist that he had worked with at the time had told him the dream was less about the amnesia and more about not knowing how he fit into a world that was at peace. It had made sense then and even more so now that he had the perspective that time and maturation brought.

“You lost yourself for a while, Quat. It happens to all of us. If you don't let go of it then you're never going to be able to move forward.” Trowa's voice was soothing and kind, the one he used for skittish animals and frightened children. 

Quatre jerked away moving back until he was beyond Trowa's reach. “I almost killed you. How am I supposed to just let go of that?” 

“A little bit at a time like everything else. You're human, Quat. You were angry, hurt and grieving when you plugged into Zero. You gave it skewed data to work with so the results were bad.” Trowa made no effort to follow Quatre, letting him have the space he needed. “You're a good person. You give more of yourself than anyone else I know.” He paused, tilting his head to the side and studying Quatre. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.” Quatre's response was immediate even though it carried a wary edge. 

“If I told you I knew someone who was smart, but spent too much time thinking, someone who cared deeply for the world and was too generous for his own good, would you believe that what I said was true?” 

“Yes.” Again Quatre's response was immediate. 

“That is how I see you, Quat. If you won't believe or trust that you are that person, you can trust me to know it for you.” 

Quatre chewed his bottom lip and nodded slowly as he processed what Trowa had said. After several minutes he took a deep breath and appeared to come to a decision. “I can do that, I think... trust in your judgment.” 

“Good.” Trowa smiled then rolled to stand beside the bed. “I'm hungry. Lets go make dinner.” 

“Dinner sounds like a great idea.” Quatre moved to stand then hesitated a moment before kissing him lightly on the cheek and hurrying out of the room. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

One Week Later

 

“I've changed my mind, Trowa.” Quatre stopped, his hand hovering over the doorknob before falling to his side. “I'm feeling better now that I've had some good sleep. This really isn't worth bothering anyone else with. I'm sure they have other people who really need help.” Quatre smiled, ingratiating and fake, as he pleaded his case. “I was really not in a good place when I made the appointment, but I'm okay now.” 

“No you're not, Quat. You're still having nightmares.” Trowa's voice softened and he put a comforting hand on Quatre's shoulder. “A couple of decent nights doesn't make up for months of bad ones. You need to talk to someone ” 

“I will. I am.” Quatre's eyes darted around, taking in the empty hall but carefully avoiding looking at Trowa. “I've been talking to you and Duo.” 

“It's not the same.” Trowa took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I care about you and I'm not trained to know what to say. You need to talk to someone who can teach you how to cope with the things you've lived though.” His voice dipped and took on a quiet sadness. “To help you accept it is okay that you lived.” 

“Trowa.” Quatre's expression softened and he ran a hand down Trowa's arm in a comforting gesture. 

“Dr. Reynolds is good. She'll be able to help.” 

“How do you know?” Denial morphed into sullen petulance and Quatre was well versed in making that work for him. “She doesn't know about my life or the things I've had to do.” 

“She helped me.” Trowa paused letting the implications of his words sink in. “She's still helping me.” 

Quatre frowned, his forehead wrinkling as his fears battled his feelings of shame and inadequacy. “I'm scared., Trowa. What if she has me pulled from the field?” His lip quivered and he bit down on it in an attempt to appear calm and in control. “What if she finds out what I did and thinks I'm a monster?” 

“She was a soldier, Quat. She knows what it does to you when you have to fight other people. When you kill them.” 

His head jerked up fury flashing in his eyes even as moisture gathered in the corners of them. “Does she know what it's like to destroy a colony? To aim a beam canon at someone you l...care about and pull the trigger? Because I do, and it haunts me every minute of every day.” His fingers clenched, fists opening and closing. 

“Probably not.” Trowa's voice was low and soothing. “I don't know how it feels either, but it doesn't mean I don't care and I can't listen and try to understand. You know better than anyone that empathy doesn't require having lived through the same situation.” 

Quatre crumpled, deflating to slump against the wall as the fight drained out of him. “I really don't want to do this.” 

“I know, but you'll be glad you did. Trust me.” Trowa wrapped an arm around Quatre's shoulders and squeezed, offering comfort as he used his position to steer Quatre towards the door.

“I do, Trowa. I always have.” Quatre offered no more resistance though his pace was much slower than usual. “Wait for me? Please? It'll be easier if I know you are out there and have my back.” 

“Of course.” 

Quatre squared his shoulders and moved away from Trowa's encircling arm to open the door. He stepped through and strode to the receptionist's desk with a show of confidence that showed his years of training to be the head of W.E.I. At the counter he stopped and smiled at the woman typing on the computer. “Hello, my name is Quatre Winner and I have an appointment with Dr. Reynolds.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Three Months Later

The office of Dr. Sarah Reynolds, one of several full time therapists employed by Preventers, was filled with floor to ceiling bookcases on three walls; the fourth contained a desk and other office-type things such as a file cabinet and a small rolling organizer weighted down with office supplies. Behind the desk was a plush chair on wheels and behind it was a bank of windows. The view looked out over the Preventers complex to the city beyond then past it to the hazy outline of mountains that appeared to go on forever. 

Dr. Reynolds was leaned back in her chair, sneakered feet stretched out in front of her. It had been a long day and she only had one more client to see before she could head home to dinner and play time with her golden retriever Max, short for Maximum Overdrive – a fitting name for a dog with a high level of energy and intelligence. The young man she was waiting for, Quatre Winner, had passed his first year mandatory therapy and then opted to not continue. As with every other agent he still had to pass a quarterly psychological evaluation in addition to proving himself capable on the range and meeting a minimum level of physical fitness, something he had managed to do each time it came up. 

Preventers as an organization had, by necessity, taken a long hard look at the fact that most of the people who had the skill sets to be a good agents had been in combat or exposed to the devastation it created. As a result, and at the insistence of Commander Une, stringent screening protocols had been put in place as well as initial and ongoing mental health requirements. It not only allowed her to help the agents who put their lives on the line every day to have a better quality of life, but it also gave her the opportunity to combat the high levels of suicide, drug abuse and domestic violence that tended to infuse most law enforcement and military organizations. 

When she had accepted the position as Commander of Preventers, Lady Une had made it clear that her focus would be on keeping her agents mentally and physically fit as well as keeping the peace. As a veteran herself she was in a position to not only be aware of the challenges of reintegrating into civilian society but also to assist by finding ways to make the transition easier. Dr. Reynolds, an ex-Alliance soldier herself, was no stranger to the ways in which depression, anxiety and PTSD manifested, as well as how they could disrupt lives in ways that could be crippling without intervention of some kind.

There was a discrete knock on her door and Quatre entered before waiting for an answer. It never failed to amuse her that he always knocked even though she had told him repeatedly it was not necessary. Moments like that were when his breeding and business training reared its head. He nodded a greeting, a small smile curving his lips as he hung his jacket over the back of the chair before settling himself in it. His body language radiated relaxed self confidence, a big change from the exhaustion and nervousness that he'd exuded when he had crept into her office four weeks earlier. Their first session he had taken the chair closest to the door and then had spent most of his ninety minutes apologizing for everything from taking up her time to suffering from nightmares. 

“How are you feeling today?” It was a standard opening question, one designed to offer an opening to the patient if he or she so chose. 

“Good.” Quatre grinned and leaned back into the cushions of the chair. “Better than good actually. I had my weapons qualification today.” 

“And?” She prompted noting with amusement that Quatre was almost vibrating with the desire to share his results. 

“Heero only beat me by five points with hand guns and I kicked Duo's ass. He owes me lunches for a week.” Quatre's smirk was contagious and she grinned back, clapping her hands to emphasize her approval. 

“Excellent. How have you been sleeping?” 

Quatre sighed and blew out a breath that ruffled his bangs and made him less like a self assured senior agent and more like a exasperated frat boy. “Pretty well. I only had two bad nights since I saw you last. I was able to go back to sleep one night, but not the other.” 

“That's progress. What techniques did you use to work through them?” Dr. Reynolds made a notation on her tablet then raised her eyes to study Quatre. 

“The grounding exercise – five things that I can see, hear and touch. That one helped a lot. I called Trowa and talked to him to reassure myself and I had some camomile tea.” Quatre ticked each item off on his fingers as he said it, any embarrassment or shame long since dismissed. “The night I couldn't get back to sleep I played my violin for a couple of hours.” 

Dr. Reynolds made another note, nodding as she did. “Did that help?” 

“It did.” Quatre smiled, softer and more thoughtful. “I'd forgotten how good it felt to lose myself in music. When I was younger if I was upset I'd pick up my violin and play until I either felt better or was too exhausted to keep going. It was very cathartic.” He paused, frowning. “After the wars it seemed I was always too busy to play. I think that I was punishing myself, trading off something I loved for work.” He grinned ruefully then snorted and shook his head. “I've been an ass to myself. I'd be horrified if I had treated someone else this way.” 

“Yes you were.” Dr. Reynolds chuckled. “You probably will be again. We as people are often our own worst enemies. It is part of the human condition. However, now you know what to be aware of and how to combat it you can control it and lessen the impact on your life.” 

“I'm trying to remember that. I've been using the technique we discussed last session about talking to and treating myself the way I would someone else I cared about.” 

“And?” The gentle prompt elicited a frown and a vehement head shake. 

“Like I said, I was an ass. I would never put up with that kind of behavior from someone else.” 

Dr. Reynolds set her tablet down and smiled in a way that was both pleased and compassionate. “It is a lifelong progression of learning and growing, but you've made a good start. For now I'd like to keep seeing you twice a week, but I think we can shorten our sessions to forty five minutes. If you start having difficulties again or if something happens that causes you to need to see me between appointments, let Janet know and she'll make sure you get in.” 

Quatre grinned, his face lighting up like a little boy who has just been offered an early release from his lessons. “Thank you.” 

“Now.” She leaned back in her chair and propped a foot on the edge of her desk in a gesture of exaggerated casualness. “Let's talk about the homework I gave you.” 

“Do we have to?” Quatre groaned, though his protest carried an undertone of amusement. 

“What kind of a therapist would I be if I didn't follow up?” 

“A nice one?” The hopeful note in Quatre's voice was crushed by Dr. Reynolds easy laugh. 

“Excellent try, Mr. Winner. Now, talk.” 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Good session?” Trowa looked up from his book, marking his place with a finger as he picked up the etched metal bookmark from where it lay on his leg; he slid it between the pages, then rose to stand. 

“Very good. I'm still going to be seeing her twice a week, but she's cutting the time in half.” Quatre smiled, pleased with himself and his progress. 

“That is good news.” Trowa nodded to Janet, giving her a small smile as he followed Quatre out of the office. 

Beyond the glass fronted door that bore Dr. Reynolds' name was a short hallway that led to a bank of elevators. By mutual agreement Quatre turned left and pushed open the door to the stairs. They jogged the seven stories worth of steps without talking to preserve their wind. The lobby that they stepped into from the stairwell was tastefully decorated in muted colors; expensive hardwood chairs sat off to one side across from the main desk. The man seated behind the counter was in his early thirties and, while he wore the standard Preventers uniform, it had the impeccably crisp lines of someone who had no idea how difficult it was to keep mud, blood and vomit from staining his clothes. He nodded solemnly as they passed and Quatre returned it was an amused smile. 

“Dinner?” In the time that Quatre had been seeing Dr. Reynolds he and Trowa had fallen into the habit of going out to eat after to discuss the session. It helped Quatre to process what he had discussed with Dr. Reynolds as well as giving them both a mutually enjoyable way to wind down after a long day at work. 

Trowa nodded and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Do you want to ride with me or take two cars?” 

“Ride with you.” Quatre scooted around to the passenger side of Trowa's jeep as he spoke. His dark green Jaguar was parked on the other side of the lot, nestled between Noin's abused-but-much-loved pickup and Wufei's motorcycle. 

“Martinelli's?” Trowa inserted the key into the ignition then buckled his seat belt before starting the jeep.

“Actually, if you don't mind, I was thinking about going to Ricky's Place.” 

Trowa raised an eyebrow then shrugged. “Okay.” He put the vehicle into gear and backed out of the parking spot. “Any reason for the change?” 

“I really want some french fries.” Quatre reached over and turned on the radio, keeping it low but loud enough to be heard clearly. 

Trowa sent him a sideways look and then shrugged again; he was intimately familiar with Quatre's quirks, including his occasional need to spend way too much for a meal just because he wanted to. It was equal parts endearing and annoying. “Will we be able to get in?” The clock on Trowa's dashboard read five twenty-six, which put them solidly in the middle of the busiest time of the day for restaurants that catered to the business men and women that worked in the area. 

“Rick said he would save us a booth. He usually keeps a couple set aside in case he needs them.” 

“Okay.” Trowa glanced over his shoulder and changed lanes before making a right at the next corner. Two blocks further down he pulled into the middle lane and then made a left across traffic into the parking lot. 

The valet who took the keys to Trowa's jeep then handed him a claim ticket appeared to be about their age give or take a year or two. He appeared generally unimpressed by the world, though he did shoot them a second look when Quatre flashed him a brilliant smile and thanked him. Despite a short, but impatient line of people Quatre and Trowa were shown to their booth immediately. It was in the rear of the dining room butted up against the back wall. The high backs on the butter soft red leather seats gave a feeling of privacy that wasn't completely an illusion. The table top was made of black and white marble that was polished to a glossy shine that mimicked pre-colony Formica. On the wall opposite them was a jukebox which held an eclectic mixture of classical, popular and period-accurate songs; it offered a chance to be superior and nostalgic at the same time and apparently that made for an extremely successful combination.

They had barely settled in when their waiter arrived with red and white checkerboard covered menus filled with glossy pictures and no prices, as Jack's Place lived by the philosophy that if you needed to ask then you probably couldn't afford to eat there. After a brief discussion they settled on cheeseburgers, no onion for Quatre, and chocolate shakes and fries. Trowa opted for a salad with extra lettuce and tomato on his burger. Growing up with minimal access to fresh produce meant he had never met a vegetable he didn't like; the single exception to this was avocado, which happened to be one of the few that Quatre would eat without complaint.

Two bites into his burger, Quatre it down and wiped his face on the incredibly extravagant paper napkins. “Dr. Reynolds gave me homework and I'm trying to figure out how to do it without making a huge mess out of things. She seems to think if I do this assignment it will help relieve a lot of the anxiety I've been dealing with. I'm not sure that's true, but I do agree that it is something I want to do. I'm just not sure how.” 

Trowa nodded taking his time chewing his salad. He swallowed and set his fork down, giving Quatre his full attention. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“There is. But you have to want to do it not just go along with me because that's what I want.” 

“Okay.” Trowa took another bite and chewed it while he considered the implications of what Quatre had just said even though he had already agreed to help. 

“You promise?” 

“Yes.” Trowa smiled, genuine and soft, before reaching across the table to steal one of Quatre's french fries. 

“Hey! Those are mine.” Quatre glared in mock indignation then popped a fry into his mouth. “Eat your own.” 

“Yours taste better.” Trowa stole another, dipping it into the raspberry vinaigrette dressing on his salad before eating it. 

Grinning widely now, Quatre mimicked Trowa's actions and stole one his fries. He chewed it slowly in an exaggerated manner as if he were participating in a high level french fry tasting-competition. “Yours have a solid potato taste to them, but mine have an enchanting mixture of starch, oil, and salt. They sing on your tongue.” 

Trowa snorted, but picked up another fry crooking his pinkie in a way that implied he was holding a tea cup. He nibbled at the end taking a drink of his shake between each bite to 'clear his palate'. He was about three bites in when Quatre could no longer hold back the laughter he had been fighting in check; it started with a choked snort and escalated to a full belly laugh before easing into bursts of snickers. 

Quatre leaned back against the bench seat, eyes closed, as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't remember the last time I laughed like that.” He wiped at the tears lingering in the corner of his eyes. “It feels really good.” 

“It's good to see you smiling and happy.” Trowa's slightly evil smirk morphed into something softer and more intimate. “It fits you much better.” 

Quatre blushed, pale pink staining his cheeks. “I feel so much better. Thank you.” 

“You did all the work, Quat. You and Dr. Reynolds.” 

“That's not true.” Quatre's expression was still amused, but the tilt of his chin clearly said he was not going to back down. “You convinced me to make the appointment and you waited for me every session so I would have someone to talk to afterward, even though it took up a lot of your time. You didn't have to do that, but you did. You've been a good friend and I appreciate it.” 

Trowa returned Quatre's smile then looked away clearly unsure what to do with the emotions he was feeling. “I...” He stopped, frowning at his salad as flickers of emotion skittered across his face too quickly to be identified. Seeming to come to a decision he lifted his gaze and nodded. “You're welcome. I'm glad it helped.” 

“ _You_ helped. You always do. Knowing that I can come to you no matter how messed up my head is and you won't judge me means a lot.” He looked away for a moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “When I'm with you I feel like I can be myself and be okay. That I can trust myself because you trust me.” 

“That's how I feel when I'm with you too, Quat. If you care about me then I must have something worth while about me.” 

“Oh, Trowa. You have no idea what a good person you are.” Quatre's eyes were suspiciously misty and he shifted in his seat. “Oh, fuck it.” He muttered before stretching across the table to plant his lips on Trowa's. The kiss was short, more a brush of lips against lips than anything more intense. When it was over Quatre flopped back into his seat grinning nervously as he studied Trowa's face for his reaction. “I was going to do something more romantic, but I really needed to kiss you right then. I hope its okay. That's what my homework was. To let you know how I feel about you. I've been trying to do that for a while now and telling you was my homework. I...do you want to do this? Be boyfriends or whatever you call it? Don't say yes unless you want to, because you have to want to...” 

Trowa cut off the flow of words with a second kiss, letting his lips linger as he entwined the fingers of his hand with Quatre's. Slowly he pulled away, a smile dominating his face. “Yes, I want to.” He leaned in to steal a third kiss and then sat back in his seat, still holding onto Quatre's hand. “I love you too, Quat.” 

Quatre's brilliant smile lit up his face and he squeezed Trowa's hand as he settled back into his seat, visibly calmer than he had been since leaving Dr. Reynold's office. “That's good. Really, really good.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Six Months Later

 

The phone woke Trowa though it took him a second to realize the music playing in his dream was actually Quatre's ring tone and not a band in a some sort of strange parade that Duo was leading while Heero chased after him, yelling that the oven needed to be cleaned again because Duo had dried his socks on one of the racks. Trowa was pretty sure he didn't want to know what the meaning behind that dream was, nor was he going to ask anyone else to analyze it for him. Still frowning at the weird images in his head Trowa reached for his cell. It was in the usual spot on the night stand and he picked it up, accepted the call and had it to his ear before his eyes were completely open. 

“Quat?” His voice was husky from sleep and the virus he had been fighting for the last few days. Normally Quatre would be in bed with him on a Tuesday night, but he had decided to go home instead so that Trowa could rest and hopefully get better. 

“I'm sorry for calling. I know you aren't feeling well and I really didn't want to wake you up.” A sighed echoed through the phone followed by a moment of silence. “It was bad tonight. I did the grounding exercises twice and they aren't helping. Nothing is helping.” Quatre's voice was steady, but Trowa could hear the unmistakable undertone of fear and panic. 

“Don't be sorry. I'm glad you called.” Trowa reached over to turn on the light before crawling out of bed. “I needed to get up and eat something.” Stepping into his slippers Trowa headed for the kitchen. “How was work?” 

“Quiet for a change. Duo and I got caught up on paperwork for a change. We even had time to go out and get lunch.” 

“Where did you go?” Trowa opened the door to the refrigerator, squinting as the light hit his eyes making them water. Rummaging around he found the container of leftover soup that had somehow ended up way in the back behind a jar of peanut butter and a bag of peaches. 

“The new Thai place down the street. Wufei's been wanting to try it so we took him and Heero with us. Hilde was supposed to join us, but she and Lu caught a case and had to cancel.” 

There was a noise in the background and Trowa frowned, trying to identify it. Unfortunately his stuffed up ears were not cooperating. Nor was his fuzzy brain. “How was it?” 

“Okay.” Trowa could hear the shrug in Quatre's voice and the lack of enthusiasm was plain in his tone. “I had the pad thai and it wasn't bad. A little bit bland. Heero's kang keaw wan was good. The coconut was mild enough you could taste it but it didn't take over. Duo and Wufei both had satay kai which was pretty good; I'll probably have that next time we go.”

Trowa unscrewed the lid from the top of the container and put it in the microwave to warm. “That sounds like a good plan.” He coughed, holding the phone away from to muffle the sound. “Sorry.” Pushing the button to start the microwave he wandered to the other side of the kitchen to find a spoon. 

“How are you feeling?” Quatre's voice was soft, but the undercurrent of worry was back. We missed you today. _I_ missed you. Lunch wasn't the same without you.” 

“I'm feeling better.” Trowa moved the phone as another bout of coughing hit him. “The cough isn't keeping me awake anymore and my fever finally broke. If Sally will okay it I should be back at work on Friday.” 

There was quiet on the other end of the line and Trowa could feel the tension through the phone. “I was worried about you.” Quatre paused, his voice getting softer and more intense. “That was what the dream was about tonight. “You were floating in space and then you were sick. You...” He went silent again and Trowa could hear the sound of Quatre drinking – most likely from a cup of camomile tea. “You died and Cathy was yelling at me that it was my fault because I left you out there and didn't take care of you. That's when I woke up.” 

“I'm fine, Quat. It's just a virus that needs to run its course. If there was anything more to it Sally would have me in her office poking me full of holes. You know how she enjoys playing with needles.” 

Quatre's laugh was choked and harsher than normal, but it still held a hint of humor. “Yes she does and she does every chance she can.” 

The microwave dinged and Trowa opened the door to remove his soup. The now twice-reheated broth and noodles suddenly held no appeal; he set it aside and slumped against the counter rubbing a hand over his face. “Do you want to come over?” Trowa hoped the question wasn't as needy as it sounded to his ears. 

“Yes!” The answer was immediate and carried with it a rush of relief. 

“I won't be much good for company, but I would really love to see you right now.” 

Quatre chuckled, and this time it warm and genuine sounding. “I don't care. You don't need to entertain me-- I just want to see you.” _'and know that you are okay'_ hung unspoken in the air; Trowa acknowledged it without needing to hear Quatre to say it. 

“Okay.” Trowa stifled a yawn and turned to head back to the bedroom. “I'm going back to bed, but I'll leave the kitchen light on for you.” 

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to bring you anything?” 

“Just yourself. I miss you.” 

“I miss you too. I love you, Trowa.” 

“I love you too.” 

It was closer to twenty minutes before Trowa was pulled from a restless doze by by the soft tread of Quatre's sneakered feet coming down the hallway. The crack of light through the gap in the doorway where Trowa had left it partially ajar widened and brightened before it returned to its previous state as Quatre slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. This was followed soon after by the unmistakable sound of someone disrobing. Trowa startled, surprised that he had drifted off in such a short time, when the covers shifted and the mattress dipped as Quatre crawled into bed and made himself comfortable. 

“Hey.” Trowa shifted back into Quatre's warmth as his arms came up to encircle Trowa from behind. He sighed softly, enjoying the solid feel of Quatre's body against his back.

“Hey yourself.” Quatre's smile infused his words, all hints of fear and anxiety gone now that he had Trowa in his arms and knew mentally, emotionally and physically that he was okay. “Sorry I woke you. I was trying to be as quiet as possible.” 

“You were.” Trowa rolled slightly and tilted his head so that he could give Quatre a lingering kiss. He pulled away when the tightness in his chest could no longer be ignored and he had to give into the urge to cough. “I didn't hear you until you were in the hallway. Normally the sound of your car turning into the driveway would have woken me up.” 

“Good, I'm glad you were able to sleep. You need your rest to get better.” Quatre snuggled closer entwining his legs with Trowa's “As much as I would love to keep you up for the rest of the night, that will have to wait until you aren't sick. We can make up for lost time later.” 

“I'm going to hold you to that.” Trowa's chuckle turned into a cough which quieted as quickly as it had come once Quatre began rubbing gentle circles on his back. “It will give me something to look forward to.” 

“Tomorrow if you're feeling better we can either order in or I can go out and get you something to eat that isn't soup.” Quatre continued the slow, soothing motion, as Trowa made himself comfortable again. 

Trowa snorted drowsily, his eyes already mostly closed as he relaxed towards sleep. “You saw the kitchen.” 

“I put it back in the refrigerator in case you wanted it later.” Quatre's voice was just as sleepy sounding as Trowa's though without the harsh edge that came from fighting an illness. 

There was silence for a few moments broken only by slow steady rhythm of breathing. “I'm glad you called and came over.” Trowa's words were slightly slurred as he fought to stay awake against the overwhelming pull of sleep. “I needed you here.” 

Quatre cuddled closer, his arms tightening around Trowa. “You could have called, Trowa. It's okay for you to want or need me to be with you. Being there for each other means you can ask just as I can.” Gently, Quatre kissed the back of Trowa's neck before rubbing his head across where Trowa's neck met his shoulder. “I love you, and as much as I like and appreciate you taking care of me when I need it, I want to be able to do the same for you.” 

“Okay.” Trowa's response was barely audible, but his immediate agreement brought a smile to Quatre's lips. He and Trowa were similar in that they tended to focus on the needs of others and ignore their own. It was vital that Trowa not only knew, but really understood and believed that he and his mental health was just as important as Quatre's. 

“I love you.” Quatre repeated the words, savoring the sound and taste of them. The feelings he had for Trowa might not be new, but being able to express them was and he was enjoying the novelty. Trowa mumbled something in reply and gave a deep sigh which Quatre did not hear as he was already sound asleep. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

One Year Later

 

“I really wish I didn't have to leave.” Quatre finished off the last of his hot chocolate and carefully set the mug on the end table. He blew out a breath and crinkled his face like a cranky toddler, but made no move to get up or shift Trowa's head from where it was resting in his lap. Tiredness showed in Quatre's eyes and the pinched lines on his face. 

“You don't have to, Quat. You're always welcome to stay.” Trowa smiled up at Quatre and shifted so that he could wrap an arm around Quatre's waist. “I'd love it if you stayed.” 

“I know.” Quatre sighed with the weight of a life time of regrets. He let his head drop back against the couch cushions as his fingers carded into Trowa's hair, combing and smoothing in alternate motions. “I have to be at W.E.I early tomorrow morning and my place is closer by about thirty minutes. Plus you can sleep in so you shouldn't have to be disturbed by my alarm.” 

“I can go back to sleep.” Trowa leaned into the touch, a smile curving the corners of his lips in a way that was both sensual and relaxed. “One of the first things you learn as a soldier is to take advantage of every chance you get to sleep. The second is how to make yourself fall asleep no matter how hot, cold, wet, muddy or covered in blood you are.” 

Quatre smiled, not hiding the hint of sadness that tainted it. “When I was young I never had a problem, but once Rashid opened my eyes and I started looking past myself to the world around me it got to be more difficult. Even during the wars when I was bone tired dead on my feet I still had times I couldn't sleep. It's funny, isn't it? The way that there are times when your brain just won't shut down.” 

“That's because you care so much about everyone.” Trowa rested his free hand on the back of Quatre's neck and pulled him down gently, rising to meet him half way. The kiss was sweet and warm, more a statement of love than lust though not without an acknowledgment of the physical response.

“I care about _you_.” Quatre's smile was completely open this time and he bent to kiss Trowa's forehead.

“Then stay.” Trowa lifted up and captured Quatre's lips again, but this one was pure promise and ended with both of them breathing heavier than they had been. 

“I really want to, but tomorrow is going to...”

Trowa pressed a finger to Quatre's lips silencing him mid sentence. “Forget about tomorrow. I want you to _stay_ Quat. Not just for the night, but for good.” 

Quatre's eyes widen and he inhaled sharply almost pulling Trowa's finger into his mouth in the process. “Are you sure? That is a really big step.” 

“Yes.” Trowa nodded even as he was sitting up. He turned to sit crosslegged on the couch so he could face Quatre. “I've been thinking about it for a while now. I miss you when you aren't here. The house feels empty like something is missing.” He reached out to take Quatre's hands in his and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “You're missing and that means the heart of the home is gone.” He studied Quatre's face fighting the urge to hide behind his bangs. 

A multitude of emotions washed across Quatre's face, too many and too quickly to put a name to. Finally he nodded, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. “Yes. I think...” He shook his head and laughed quietly to himself as if amused by something. “Yes. And for once I'm not going to over think it. I want to be with you and not have to think about going back to my place. This is home and my apartment is just a place I sleep some times. So, yes, I'll stay.” 

“Good.” Trowa's grin was heartbreakingly open and vulnerable, making him look much younger than his twenty three years. “Welcome home, Quat.” With a single motion he pulled Quatre into his lap and kissed him soundly as they moved into the next phase of their lives the way they were meant to be – together.


End file.
